


Colleagues

by tei



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tei/pseuds/tei
Summary: Sebastian: Hiya, buddy. How long has it been, eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?Sherlock: This is my friend, John Watson.Sebastian: Friend?John: Colleague.In which Sherlock clears up some terminology.





	Colleagues

**Author's Note:**

> K, so here's a silly ficlet set after The Blind Banker, inspired by this tweet:
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/162393194@N08/45356259994/in/shares-06kGU3/)  
> 

The first time it happens, it’s after a consult. 

Sherlock seems to have these all the time. Someone will show up at the door, sniffling or hyperventilating or nearly catatonic with dread, and Sherlock will pry a full account of their woes out of them, and send them on their way with a solution. They don’t seem to bring him much pleasure, but they’re necessary to suss out cases that will require more than a half hour in an armchair and a nicotine patch. 

John starts sitting in for more and more of them; it’s not like he has much else to do, after all, and he’s often able to extract information more effectively than Sherlock when clients are in distress. Sherlock never thanks him, exactly, but he does start waiting for John to come down the stairs before he’ll begin a consultation. 

Which is why John knows perfectly well that Hilton Cubitt, who has presented Sherlock with a cipher of tiny dancing stick figures not half an hour previously, has a wife. 

As soon as Cubitt is gone from the sitting room, Sherlock flicks on a lamp and starts to study the photo of the stick figures that Cubitt left. 

“It’s perfectly clear that this is a cipher that only his colleague can read,” he says. “I need more of them. The more messages she receives, the quicker I can break it.”

John frowns. “His… it’s his wife who was scared by this message, Sherlock,” he says. 

“Hmm,” says Sherlock. “Quite.”

After that, it seems to become something of a theme. 

“Sherlock,” John says hesitantly after wrapping up a murder case where Sherlock has referred to the dead man’s (guilty, as it turned out) girlfriend as his “colleague” for two days straight, “I know this isn’t really your area, and that’s fine, but you do know that that woman was… in a relationship with the man she murdered, yeah? His girlfriend? Not that he was exactly the boyfriend of the year, as it turns out, but that is still, um, the technical term.”

“How interesting,” drawls Sherlock, and flips up the collar of that stupid coat, and sweeps away. 

It takes John a rather embarrassingly long time to cotton on. But when, after a few days of thrillingly bizarre investigation, Sherlock informs one prominently _Mrs._ St. Clair that her _colleague_ , Neville St. Clair, has been attempting to make a living as a beggar, and not as a journalist as she always thought-- well. 

“Okay,” says John that night, throwing himself down in his chair across from his flatmate, who is reclining on the couch. “I may be an idiot for having let it get this far, but we need to talk about this, Sherlock.”

Sherlock, predictably, says nothing. 

“You’re angry with me for…” John winces. “Saying what I said to Sebastian Wilkes.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with and you can go back to behaving normally around clients, OK? I was an arse. I’m sorry. I was freaked out by him, I wasn’t thinking, I’m an idiot, okay, it’s true, I’m an idiot. I’m your friend. _Obviously._ ”

Sherlock’s lips twist minutely, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn’t even divert his eyes from the spot he’s staring at on the ceiling. 

The second tick by. John resists the urge to roll his eyes. Or wring Sherlock’s neck. 

He clenches and unclenches his fists before saying into the silence, “Okay, that… wasn’t enough. Obviously.” Deep breath. 

“You… haven’t been referring to peoples’ _friends_ as their colleagues,” he says, and feels his throat pinch a little when he realizes where this is going. He’s started now, though, and he can’t stop until he’s followed this thought to its logical conclusion. _Oh,_ John realizes distantly. _This must be how he feels, when he’s about to say something that he really shouldn’t._

“It’s just romantic partners. You’ve started referring to everyone’s boyfriends, girlfriends, and spouses as their colleagues. I called you my colleague. So. I’m going to make a deduction, Sherlock, and say that you’re not going to stop identifying clients’ romantic partners as colleagues, until you get to identify your own colleague as a romantic partner.”

A heavy silence. 

“How did I do?” John asks lightly. “I’m new at this deduction thing, but since I’m going to be your boyfriend, I figured I should start making a study of it.”

Sherlock sweeps through the yellow scene tape like he owns the place, as always. John follows slightly behind-- not out of deference, mainly just for the enjoyment of what comes next. 

The crime scene techs know Sherlock, of course. When one points to John and starts stuttering out a demand, Sherlock says, in a tone that brooks no argument, “That’s John Watson. He’s my colleague.”

And right on cue, John rolls his eyes in exasperation and corrects, “I’m his _boyfriend._ ”

He can’t see Sherlock’s answering grin, but John knows it’s there.


End file.
